


Out Of Reach

by cuddyclothes, Flywoman, Menolly, writerdot



Series: Chain Fics/Collaborations [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Broken Bones, Freaked!House, Hurt!Wilson, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Sick Wilson, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 13:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11990781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddyclothes/pseuds/cuddyclothes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flywoman/pseuds/Flywoman, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menolly/pseuds/Menolly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerdot/pseuds/writerdot
Summary: House intends to prank Wilson by hiding his cell phone on an upper shelf. It goes horribly wrong.Written in December 2011 for the "sick_wilson Chainfic Challenge" on Live Journal. Prompt: "House pulls a prank on Wilson that ends up sending him to the ER. He tries to make up for Wilson missing the holidays in a typically Housian way."Besides the authors mentioned above, LJ member antiquixotic contributed.





	1. Written by Flywoman

When James Wilson woke up that particular chilly December morning, he should have realized that something was afoot. For a start, he was alone, the space next to him no longer even faintly warm, although still redolent with House's scent. His partner often slept badly, staying up late or getting up in the wee hours to pace irritably around the living room when his leg was especially painful. But House hadn't risen before him in living memory, much less been out the door by the time Wilson awoke.

Wilson rubbed his eyes, rolled over, and looked at the clock.


	2. Written by writerdot

He blinked to make sure that he was seeing the time correctly, because not only did he not remember House ever getting out of bed before him, but he sure as hell knew that his partner had never done so before 7:30 in the morning without some incentive.

Throwing the covers off of himself, he sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. Once he was standing, he felt a chill in the air and realized that the room was colder than it had been when they'd gone to bed the night before. He wrapped his arms around himself with a shiver and padded to the door, which was still closed.

"House," he called, starting to turn the knob. "Is everything okay?"


	3. Written by Flywoman

There was no answer. Aside from the shuffling of his feet on the carpet, the apartment was absolutely silent.

Yawning, Wilson investigated further. No notes on the fridge other than a week-old reminder scrawled in House's hand, "Anorexia. Lethargy. Diarrhea. Parrot??" Judging from the dirty bowl and spoon in the sink, House had fixed himself some cereal but hadn't made any coffee. His keys were missing from their usual spot on the hall table, and his knapsack was no longer leaning against the wall beside the door.

Well, whatever the reason for House's early departure, Wilson wouldn't let it worry him. His morning was booked solid with appointments, and he had to get ready for work himself.

He was just about to enter the bathroom when his cell phone rang.


	4. Written by antiquixotic

Turning automatically toward the bedroom, it took Wilson a moment to register that his phone was not in its usual place on the nightstand. It rang again, sounding distant and tinny, and he turned his eyes to the ceiling as the realization hit him.

"House," he groaned.

What exactly he had done in a previous life to deserve this, he wasn't sure, but he obediently stumbled away from the bedroom and followed the sound, conditioned to answer by twenty years of medical service. If House had encased his phone in jello again, Wilson was going to kill him.

He went back to the living room, clad only in an undershirt and boxers, warming himself with thoughts of revenge. The sound was marginally louder here, and he wasted a few seconds looking between the couch cushions, as if this whole ridiculous thing could be the result of an innocent oversight, and not the machinations of a gleefully sadistic partner. It took even longer to think to look up, drawn by the incessant tone to the row of high bookshelves, which gleamed beneath the florescent lights.

In a small, unfamiliar box, perched precariously on the topmost shelf, his cell phone rang.


	5. Written by Menolly

Wilson stared at the box. For one brief moment he thought about turning around and going back to bed, pulling the covers around him and forgetting the whole day. Let the damn thing ring. It was going to be House, laughing at him. He even turned back towards the bedroom door, shivering in the cool air. Bastard had turned the heat down too, he thought.

After a brief moment of silence the phone started ringing again and Wilson groaned. There would be no peace until he'd retrieved it, and he needed to go work, and he needed his phone. He shuffled into the corner and retrieved House's old wooden stepladder, dragging it back over to the bookcase.

He went up one step on the ladder and reached, but he was still short of the box, he climbed onto the next and reached up as the phone kept ringing. He reached up pushing some books out of the way, his fingertips just grazing the box, and pushing it further out of reach. All the while he kept up a string of curses in his head. Much as he loved House, and he loved him more than anyone else he'd ever loved, living with him could be a trial at the best of times.

He rose up onto his bare, cold toes and extended his arm as far as it would go, just managing to grab hold of the box with his fingertips. As he triumphantly picked it up something black and furry sprang out from underneath it, startling him. With a yell he dropped the box and then automatically grabbed for it, leaning over too far and losing his precarious balance.


	6. Written by Flywoman

He was cold, so cold. His whole body hurt, but especially his head and right wrist. Someone nearby was groaning softly. After a few seconds, he realized that the someone was himself.

"Wilson. Wilson."

House was here. Wilson struggled to open his eyes. When he finally managed it, twin bleary images of his worried-looking partner wavered in front of him.

"How many fingers do you see?" House asked, thrusting way too many hands up to his face.

Wilson puked on his shoes.


	7. Written by cuddyclothes

House looked down at his sneakers. "I love the smell of vomit in the morning. It smells like--chicken parmesan and bile. Oh, look, corn. How many fingers am I holding up, Wilson?"

“Twenty?” Wilson guessed.

“Oh, right, I’m holding up both hands,” House said. He lowered his left hand, and help up his right. “How many fingers?”

“Five?”

“Two. God, Wilson, how hard was it to reach the damn box?”

“I—there was something under the box,” Wilson moaned. He grimaced, feeling pain in his lower back and butt. That must have been where he’d taken the brunt of the fall. Now he’d be paralyzed for life…House would have to feed him and push his wheelchair…he’d have to wear diapers…he’d worn a diaper once but that was role playing.

As if reading his mind, House snapped, “Paraplegics don't move their legs around. You almost got me in the balls just now."

"I'm cold."

"You're in your underwear. Normally I'd take advantage of it, but you'd bitch the whole time about your _little_ pain and your _little_ concussion and you probably couldn't get it up. Follow my finger with your eyes.”

“Which one?’ Wilson moaned. His head felt like a blacksmith had put an anvil in his skull and was making horseshoes.

“The middle one. The _real_ middle one."

“House—House—what was under the box?”

House didn't answer. His eyes were wide, and he was staring.


	8. Written by antiquixotic

"Don't move," House said, his voice uncharacteristically thin. "Seriously, don't even breathe."

"What..." Wilson canted his eyes down and sucked in an involuntary breath.

The little furry brown spider, jostled by the movement, darted across his chest to the nearest source of darkness and warmth. House lurched forward with a curse, and Wilson had just enough time to think brown recluse, _Loxosceles reclusa_ , oh hell, before the arachnid slid under the thin fabric of his undershirt and began to scurry across his skin.


	9. Written by Menolly

Wilson froze as he felt the tiny feet traveling across his chest. The pain in his head, and his wrist, and his back were forgotten, lost in the fear of the spider.

"House," he breathed, "I hate you."

"Hey, it's not my fault. Box on high shelf, stepladder, it's not exactly an Olympic feat of endurance, Wilson." House was leaning over him. "I'm just going to ease up this designer undershirt of yours and then flick her off."

"Careful..."

"My middle name, Wilson." House said, barely breathing himself. He lifted the shirt slowly, ever so slowly and revealed the spider, nestled next to Wilson's right nipple. House paused to congratulate the thing on its excellent taste and then reached down and, taking a deep breath, flicked the spider off Wilson's delicate skin.

He watched it land and then scuttle off under the lounge, later for worrying about that. He turned to Wilson who was still frozen to the spot.

"Did it bite you?"


	10. Written by writerdot

Wilson took a deep breath and remained frozen.

"Wilson," House demanded sharply. "Did. it. bite. you."

Wilson shook his head, once to the right and once to the left, wincing when that garnered pain from his back. "No," he said slowly. "I don't think so."

"Okay," House breathed. "Okay. Come on, we need to get you to the ER."

"We need to find that thing."

"I'll take care of it," House answered, grabbing Wilson's arm to try and help him up, ignoring the twinge getting worse in his leg from his position on the floor. But when Wilson cried out at the full resurgence of earlier pain, House let him go, easing him back down carefully.

Swearing sharply, House realized that wasn't going to work. He pulled out his cell phone, wrapping his other hand around the wrist Wilson wasn't trying to cradle to his chest, and dialed.


	11. Written by Menolly

With a few terse words House explained the situation to Foreman and told him to send an ambulance. Foreman started to argue but House hung up on him.

"Ambulance is on its way," he said to Wilson. Looking around he saw the throw rug over the couch that Wilson had insisted they put there and grabbed it up, throwing it over his partner. First aid done he sat on the floor next to him, his hand going out again to cover Wilson's uninjured wrist.

"You know, most people call 911 when they need an ambulance," Wilson said weakly, shifting around on the floor, trying to find a comfortable position.

"Then you'd be put in the low priority queue, behind all the heart attacks, and we would be here forever. Foreman will get it done."

He looked down at Wilson, whose eyes were drifting shut. Gently he shook his shoulder.

"Wilson, stay with me!"

"I'm cold..."

"You're going into shock." House leaned over and tucked the rug more firmly around him. "The ambulance will be here soon."

"House, I don't hate you.. " Wilson mumbled and then his eyes closed.


	12. Written by writerdot

"Forty-three-year-old male, fall in the home, is unconscious, but was lucid for a short while. BP 75 over 55, in shock, given intravenous fluids en-route. Probable broken wrist and..."

The sound of the paramedic rattling off symptoms got harder to hear as House followed the paramedics through the door of the PPTH Emergency Room as fast as he could. He did his best to ignore the pain in his thigh as he watched them wheel a shirtless, pale and clammy Wilson through those doors into the throng of waiting doctors.

As they're inside, though, his own progress is impeded by someone familiar and he nearly mows the person down.

"They've got this, House," Foreman said forcefully.

"Let me through," House demanded, watching the Wilson get farther and farther away from him.

"House, let the team do their jobs. You're aren't a doctor, you're his family right now."

House glared at Foreman. "It's possible he was bitten by a brown recluse...he said he didn't think it had bitten him, but I need to make sure."

"I know you would have told the EMTs," Foreman responded. "Who are going to tell Preston and her team of our best ER doctors."

House still couldn't look at Foreman, instead peering over his shoulder to a curtained room a short distance away. "I need to be with him."

"As soon as they stabilize him, you can go in."

Finally taking his eyes away, he looked at his shoes, then the tip of the cane as it rested on the floor.

"He'll be okay," Foreman said softly.

"This-" House shook his head, hard. "-is my fault."

Foreman frowned. "How the hell did you cause him to go into shock?"

"I played a stupid prank..." With another shake of his head, he didn't continue, though the fingers around his cane are turning white with the violence of his grip.

"House, listen to me. Despite what you may think, you don't actually know everything."

"It was _stupid._ Supposed to be harmless..."

"It may have been stupid," Foreman conceded, "But you couldn't have known."

With a deep, shaky breath, House said nothing more. Foreman gripped his shoulder, which House had lost the energy to try and fight off.

"Come on," Foreman said, steering him toward a nearby waiting area. "I'll sit with you until we hear more."

House was immobile for a moment more, his focus back on the room containing his lover. After another slight push, however, he let Foreman lead him away.


	13. Written by Menolly

He blinked back to consciousness at the gentle touch of a nurse adjusting his IV line. He rolled his head to one side to look at her but the movement started up a spike of pain in his head. The nurse noticed and adjusted his IV.

"Doctor Wilson, you're back with us."

Wilson just stared tiredly at the woman, blinking. Helen something her name was, he thought.

"You made a bit of a mess of yourself. Broke your right wrist, you have a lumbar muscle strain, and a severe concussion. They're going to keep you in for a couple of days for observation."

"Tomorrow is Christmas," he protested. It wasn't that either of them celebrated really, it wasn't even his holiday. But it was going to be his first one since House and he had become partners and he didn't want to spend it in a hospital bed..

"They do a nice turkey dinner here, well nice-ish, and Santa Claus comes around, if you're good."

"Great," he said glumly.

She chuckled lightly and straightened his blanket. He looked around the room, carefully not moving his head too much. His eyes fell on the empty visitor's chair and something in his chest tightened.

"Where's House?"


	14. Written by antiquixotic

“He stopped by once we got you settled in, but he left pretty quick.” Something in his face must have given away his thoughts, for she reached out and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “You weren't out of it that long. I'm sure he'll be back soon.”

Wilson had his doubts about that, but he forced himself to smile and thank her for her kindness. She left soon after, and he spent the next few hours in a bored, restless doze, interrupted frequently by well-meaning visitors that he had no desire to see at all. He eventually paged a nurse and requested privacy, worn out by platitudes and plastic smiles.

With the exception of steady check-ups by the nursing staff, the day passed on quietly into the evening. Wilson was just about to ask one of House's fellows to find their boss and drag him here -to hell with guilt trips and sulking- when the privacy screen parted and something large and furry flew at his head. He yelped and pulled the plush black spider from his face, holding it between his thumb and forefinger by one plump, fuzzy limb.

“It's...cute,” he said to House, who strode in as if he hadn't dropped off the planet for eight hours. A distressingly familiar box was tucked under his free arm. “You don't do cute. I'm surprised it didn't burst into flames when you touched it.”

“I had to use tongs,” House quipped, dragging the visitor's chair closer to the bed and sitting down.

Wilson set the stuffed spider down on his chest and absently petted its soft abdomen, determinedly not meeting House's eyes. “Where were you?”

“Recluse wrangling. By the way, how attached were you to that blue table lamp?” Wilson's eyebrow shot up toward his hairline, and House grinned briefly before sobering. Balancing his cane between his thighs, he took the box from under his arm and held with his long, pianist's fingers. “I also had to get this. Figured you might want to see what you nearly got yourself killed over.”


	15. Written by Menolly

Wilson took the box gingerly, nestling it against the cast on his right wrist.

"Nothing else is going to jump out at me is it?" He asked.

"No, I cleared it of everything that could possibly be toxic to a clumsy oncologist. Just open the damned box, if you can do that without falling off anything."

Wilson wasn't sure he wanted to, he had a dreadful suspicion of what might be inside, and that was something he definitely didn't want, not for the fourth time, not from House.

He slowly pried off the lid with his left hand and peered inside. Relief mixed with confusion.

"Its... a key," he said, baffled. He took the offending object out and peered at it. He looked in the box again and came out with a sheaf of papers. He peered again into the box but that was it. He took both items and put them on his lap.

"Er... thanks, House, you shouldn't have." Wilson said, leaning back against the pillows, _this_ was what he was nearly killed for?

"It's the key to the apartment."

"Your apartment? But I already have a key, I live there."

"Our apartment."

Wilson frowned and then took up the sheaf of papers. The deed to the apartment, and the transfer paperwork putting it in both of their names. He felt a warm glow at this sign of commitment from House. It meant a lot to have this proof that House thought their arrangement was permanent. Still, it had cost him a broken wrist, a concussion and a stay in the hospital over Christmas.

"You couldn't have just given this to me? You had to hide my cell phone in there and stick it up on top of the bookcase? "

House fiddled with his cane and looked away. "It was a metaphor," he muttered finally when Wilson had nearly given up waiting for an answer. "That's where I used to keep my morphine."


	16. Written by writerdot

The warm glow in Wilson was threatening to burst out of him now, though it was mixed with a little guilt for not having seen that there had to be a bigger gesture House was making with the elaborate prank.

He looked at his lover's profile. "Thank you, House."

House's gaze continued to drift around the room. "It was stupid. I should have just handed them over, then you wouldn't be lying there and I wouldn't have been-"

House cut himself off, but Wilson finished the sentence wordlessly: afraid.

Afraid for Wilson...probably afraid that the gesture he'd just made would be rejected to begin with.

Wilson moved gently to the side, wincing when pain shot through his back, but he managed anyway. "Get up here with me."

"But-"

"Just do it."

House was uncharacteristically uncertain, but Wilson kept insisting and House eventually gave in, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. Wilson grabbed his hand with his undamaged one and wrapped their fingers together.

"A normal person would have just given them to me," Wilson concedes. "But you are _not_ normal."

When House looked like he was about to protest, Wilson continued over him. "I'm sorry, the pain made me forget that earlier. Look, we are not the roses and candle-lit dinners type of couple. If I wanted that...well, it doesn't matter, because I fell in love with you. It sucks I got hurt, yes, but I appreciate what you're doing. So go back to being you and quit the unwarranted guilt. It's not like you knew this would happen."

Wilson let go of House's hand and reached up and brushed his fingers against House's scruffy cheek. "Okay?"

House nodded a little hesitantly. "Okay."

"Good."

They let a comfortable silence settle around them and Wilson leaned back against the pillows as House's free hand settled gently on Wilson's covered knee. He smiled and closed his eyes to rest.

"Hey Wilson," House whispered gently, a minute or two later.

Wilson kept his eyes closed as he answered, "Hmm?"

"Just F.Y.I...."

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

Wilson opened his eyes, took in House's gentle expression, the warmth of one hand wrapped around his and the other on his knee.

He pulled on House's hand to bring him forward for another kiss, and murmured, just before their lips met, "I know."


End file.
